


Thanks For Staying.

by Problematic_Devon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 19th Century, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 21:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20589455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Problematic_Devon/pseuds/Problematic_Devon
Summary: An usual night at Crowley's place takes a different turn, when she shatters the barrier that divided her from Aziraphale for too much time.





	Thanks For Staying.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, this was my first attempt to write a Crowley/Aziraphale story,  
I hope you will enjoy it; and if so, let me know!  
Have a nice reading!

London, November; 1886.

There was a short pause. Then she spoke again, a note of amusement in her voice.  
"..So, you have this library idea. It sounds great, really."  
"I do! You'll always be welcome there, dear," Added Aziraphale, gazing into her eyes with delicate joy. 

Crowley's hand caressed her glass in vague interest. Her fingers lingered on its base and then held it to her mouth for a last sip. 

"Was that an invite, darling?" She questioned him and leaned an elbow on the wooden table that divided them.  
"Well, as you invited me to your house, this night..," The Angel blinked and looked away for a brief moment. He was holding the glass with both of his hands, gently, as he couldn't hide a little smile that slowly pulled his lips.  
Crowley instinctively brought one hand to her chest and left the empty piece of glass on the table.  
"You know you're always welcome, here."  
Her voice was deeply sincere. That made Aziraphale look at her again.  
With slight surprise he noticed the fact that the Demon finished her wine, and so leaned over to take the bottle, moving a little closer. 

"Here, let me.."  
He leaded the neck of the bottle down so that he could serve her, but not a long time they needed, to understand that the wine was totally absent.  
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and calmly sat back, as he heard a small giggle.

"Oh no, it happened again!" Crowley exclaimed in a faint imitation of distress, with a big smile and a hand cupping half of her face.  
Aziraphale couldn't do anything but smile back at the splendid picture his eyes were enjoying. This time in a way that was more free and careless.

"It is late, indeed. Time flies with you, my beloved friend."  
He sighed, and the smile took a little to fade away.  
Crowley's smile faded, too.  
Her head tilted lightly to the right. She was wearing black, and the shirt seemed to be tight around her neck.  
Aziraphale adjusted his tie and glared to the floor. A refined gentleman like him would've never wanted to procure any kind of discomfort to such a pleasant lady like Crowley, whom hosted him so dearly.  
And so it was that moment, again.  
The horrid moment in which he would say goodbye, like a ritual after all of their meetings, again and again, like an endless déjà-vu of polite misery. It was obvious, to both of them at that point, that separate to eventually see each other elsewhere in time was the most foolish decision ever made. 

"I think it is time for me to go, now-"

"No..!"

Crowley's eyes widened.  
In a fracture of time which her brain didn't even notice, she was standing up. She unconsciously preceded him, with a swaying move that ondulated the long skirt of velvet, and now Aziraphale was surprised and startled; he stayed on the chair as their glances crossed.

Her eyes of gold shone in alarm, her arms were stiff, her hands pressed on the table. '𝘕𝘰', she protested.  
No.  
Not this night. Not this time.  
This time she wouldn't have seen Aziraphale stepping out of her door, leaving the whole of her in livid solitude, slave of the pain she so finely learned to whelve down, where the all-seeing light couldn't reach.  
The longing adulation for her friend was a thing that she's always recognized: swimming in her veins and pulsing with her heart as secondary, rebellious blood, pouring with her tears and singing in her rage.  
It was the fear of Aziraphale's unpredictable response to that, that petrified her every, single, time.

But she wouldn't have let it all fade now, as it always happened.  
She wouldn't have let him go.

The angel's surprise turned into wonder. What was she going to do? Did she want to add something more to the beautiful night they just had?  
He always thought that their time together was the best he could have. After all those years, Aziraphale sincerely thought that he has found more of a friend in Crowley than in a million of Angels.  
Crowley was a good friend, Crowley was nice.  
Crowley was beautiful.  
The most beautiful creature he has ever seen.  
Eden was so shallow before her.  
Heaven was freezing, but Crowley smiled at him and he could find her in everything: she was affection, the colour red, refined perfumes and safety; innovation, cherry wine, intimacy.  
And shivers scraped his spine everytime his fustered heart would've remembered him about those thoughts. His wings would've stiffed, repentant.  
Was the old acknowledge of his most secret feelings, that dragged his eyes down whenever Crowley said something too much sweet? Was Crowley more than a friend? Just the thought of it was enough for his breath to become shallow, as if deep in his lungs something dangerous was resting.

His chest heaved a little faster as he suddenly remembered about it.  
Yet his eyes didn't dare to move away from Crowley, this time. She was the cause of his reminiscence, and somehow she perfectly reincarnated it.  
She was still. Her Jaws were clenched and her eyebrows were arched in a contained expression of anguish. Her perfectly combed hair gave her a more accentuated painting-like charm, motionless in her emotions.  
She was aware that a lot of things could happen, in that moment. She tasted risk on her tongue, her desire devoured it and grew.  
Aziraphale.  
He was her only wish, so close yet unreachable, familiar but unknown: heavenly.  
Did she really need to hide her passion from him?

Aziraphale's lips parted to say something, but no words will come out.  
Perhaps because he didn't want to sound impolite, or because his whole mind was so caught, so enchanted by that frail yet violent moment that held both of them so still, shuddering their hearts with the well-known feeling of yearn.

"Don't.. Go. Not now,"

Crowley managed to say, and her shoulders huddled.  
The Angel's cheeks coloured. He's sure that he knew what secrets those golden eyes were hiding, how many forsaken words were being screamed in thick silence.  
His heart was wincing with the same, aching need of Crowley's.

After a few moments of wine-scented tension, the Angel breathed out soft agreement; he'll stay a little more— exceeding the limit that divided them until that prophetic night.  
Crowley drew in a slow sigh. She allowed her arms to a trembling rest, and retired her hands on her skirt, stepping away from the table.  
She was stunning, thought Aziraphale.  
Her body was tall, slim, and she had very cured manners. As she walked past some candles her hair became scarlet, and light treasured her eyes.  
A dreadful veil of shame wrapped the Angel's heart. 'don't look at her', he should have said to himself, but he was only sitting still, trying to calm down too, as the sad Moon stroked his cotton hair with her rays, and kissed his ivory skin.

"It is so nice, having you here."

The Demon fondly admitted, letting her fingers play with fire. Her tone was tristful.

He did it softly, though his ways were always kind, as he stood up, and walked towards his friend.  
He was half-way through to reach her, when her head turned to him. She abbreviated the remaining distance between them as if something had called for her.

"Thanks for staying."

She spoke again, and her lips shuddered.  
Aziraphale was looking at her in the sweetest of ways — or 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 way of his, was the sweetest? —, a look that whispered realization, comprehension.  
He knew.  
And she knew that he did.  
Yet, instead of answering to her words, Aziraphale writhed in his clothes and swallowed with difficult.  
It was hard to talk in front of Crowley, now.  
Because she looked so grateful for the thing he felt so obscene about, because she was accepting it before himself. 

"Angel," She faltered. And then, "Aziraphale," She called, her breath tightened in her throat and her face flushed.  
One hand went to search for his but hesitated, her action broken by a shock of denial, her fingers retreating in emotive grief.  
No.  
She couldn't.  
They, couldn't.  
It was against the rules.

Aziraphale listened to her beautiful voice chanting his name, knives piercing his heart each time, and he couldn't remain silent at the vision of her resigned hand.

"My dear, Crowley.."

He let out, his eyes were lucid with sorrow.  
Another step of his killed the little space left.  
He had moved closer without even thinking.

Crowley saw in his tears.  
She saw everything.  
The longing and the terror. The secrecy and agony.  
They couldn't.  
It was against the rules.  
They couldn't. 

──────────•~✦~•──────────

Her lips pressed against his in a way that was perfect. 

A moment later, they were not touching anymore.  
Her eyes opened to look at him again; his eyes never closed.  
Would it be a sin, for a Demon, to kiss an Angel?

Pure terror bruised Crowley's bones, penetrating her soul with gelid guilt.  
Aziraphale was staring at her and his eyes were full of shock, his hands were closed into fists and his breath was unsteady.

What has she done? Did she hurt the dearest person in her life, forcing him into a non-existant reality that she, and only she had dreamed about?  
If her perceptions were mere illusions, and her doubts just an helpless projection of her dreams, then death was sublime.  
The same hand that remained half-way between them was now covering her painted mouth, her eyes widened with fear.  
"Aziraphale," But this time it sounded so faded and broken.

As she tried to take a step back though, a warm hand invited her not to do so.  
Aziraphale held the thin wrist of her and one tear escaped his left eye.  
Soon he could taste her lips again, by holding the fragile hand with both of his. The loveliest touch Crowley had ever felt. 

──────────•~✦~•──────────

Minute by minute, their touches became more and more intimate.  
Their hands were now searching, and finding, and treasuring each other's features, and their lips never parted, quivering through long and welcoming kisses, and shy ones.  
Crowley leaned down graciously to ease their contact, her hands cupped Aziraphale's face, letting him hold her waist, almost sheepishly above the corset.  
They made no sound, at first.  
It was a silent performance, a pantomime of Love herself that leaded their hands to possess and their eyes to close. After long moments of sensitive outburst they were looking in each other's eyes again.  
Crowley needed to know, just like Eve, she needed to know how the only thing she's ever really craved felt like. Aziraphale still was scared, but wouldn't have left his loved one now, and ever.

One of the Demon's hands leaned close to his neck.  
Her index traced a line on his jaw and lightly behind his ear, sliding down on his neck for how much skin she was capable to touch. The Angel shivered evidently. His eyes widened while looking up at the lady's sulphuric disks.  
Her hand then laid on his tie. She held the fabric with kindness, and kindly she undid the faint knot around his neck.  
She needed more, more, and once the tie was completely useless, she let it fall on the cold pavement.  
Aziraphale sighed; was it a sigh of relief, he didn't know it, either. 

"Crowley..." He chirped at some point, as she was already preying on his shirt and its buttons, hungry for more of her Angel to be exposed.  
She stopped, though, and cupped his face once more. In the most reluctant way, Aziraphale's hands laid on the Demon, too, loosening the first button of her shirt and she flinched in surprise, and let him, consolidating his decision with another kiss, sweet and lasting, stroking his candid hair like he stroked the skin of her neck, so close that their chests almost touched.

Their eyes opened, but now they were in the bedroom.

"Aziraphale.., did you just..?" The Demon muttered with an incredulous smile, powerful arms enclosing her as a response.  
He miracled them both in front of the bed and now he was smiling in Crowley's cloudy hair, almost chuckling at her reaction. Her arms locked around the angel's neck and shoulders to embrace him dearly.  
He was happy.  
They could be.  
A shy kiss was left on the Demon's hair, her lips found their way to Aziraphale's collarbone and he felt like she had just eaten one of his heartbeats.

"G-God, what is happening..?"

"Honey, She won't answer you, now."

Dominated by the impetuous force of their vent, they started to mistreat each other's clothes very quickly, Aziraphale was deprived of his jacket, Crowley was free of the tight corset and her skirt now largely rested on her hips. Aziraphale's hands were shaking as he opened her shirt with delicate rush, Crowley's legs hardly supported her when she could finally hold the Angel's waist under the gilet, and she dragged him towards herself and they both landed on the bed, and allowed themselves to laugh in naive joy.  
Crowley took off her own shirt and finished to open his angel's one. Her chest shivered and one of his shoulders was free from the white garment. 'Romantic', she thought, but she'll have to pay attention to something else.  
Aziraphale's eyes glowed of awoken desire, when his hand pulled the fabric of Crowley's skirt to reach one of her legs. He caressed the thin stocking and lace enclosing her thighs, stealing a thrilled gasp from her.  
"A-Angel!" 

Oh, how much she's waited, how much she's dreamed of this. Aziraphale was astonishingly soft as his hand lightly clutched at her inner thigh, stroking and spreading her slowly, timidly.

"Wait-..," She panted, and took a hold of his wrist, commanding him to tender sin, moaning softly at his blushing cheeks.

"C-Crowley, you.., you..." Aziraphale felt his head spin, thousands of different thoughts dancing together.  
The absence of contact, emotional and physical that he had been forced to bear with for all of those years now intensified his senses. He found out how needful he was and now he was safe from it, thanks to his Crowley.  
She was nature and he was the romantic.

His hand was now fondling the Demon and he could feel everything in between her clothes, and he 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 it, at least as much as Crowley herself. He rested by her neck, slowly and gracefully smooching and absorbing every inch of skin and every variety of scent, from the dominant tone of her violet essence to the forgotten whine of that same night, to the mellow trace of her lip salve.  
He left himself to her control, trusting and worshipping her through the revolutionary religion their love was.

"Good boy.." She cuddled him.  
Her squirms of delight only encouraged him, then she animated his kisses by grabbing his subtle hair; she praised him, and he was the victim of his own, feverish adoration.  
The Demon closed her eyes and tilted her head back, drowning in the deep kind of satisfaction that obscures any common sense: Laws, moralities, denials were all eclipsed by their ancestral love, divine in a crown of sins that Heaven nor Hell could look at. 

Aziraphale was done with her skirt, by then.  
Fear extinguished in him and gave space to Need, a need that slept for centuries, growing day by day, its influence directly proportioned to the amount of time that passed, and now so big that the Angel barely recognized himself, as his hands hungrily slid black velvet down to the floor.  
Crowley was now almost completely naked if not for her underwear and stockings, but oh, if that wasn't going to last long. 

"I dreamed of you like this."  
She nodded, and shaking she brought the thin fingers of her to undo his pants and pull them down, in a messy way, leading away part of his underwear too, as he was doing the same exact thing.  
"M-me too. So, so many times..."  
Soon they were enough naked to see how much arousal burned through, and between them.

Aziraphale kneeled in between Crowley's legs and she parted them. In a moment she was moving upon him, straddling his thighs and kissing him again and again, inviting him to the middle of the bed, and then pushing him down. She had been quick and demanding, and so their members were touching, sending waves of electric delight. The Angel cried out and Crowley smiled in a moan.  
"What will I do to you, hm?"  
She lifted and sat down on him. Again, her beauty was shockingly apparent. Her hair was a flaming tempest that fell on her sharp shoulders, serpentine eyes made her dangerous, smeared lip salve made her wild.  
But Aziraphale was all but scared.  
His whole body admitted sweet submission, elysian eyes and the love-nourished pupils, crimson lips of honey. Crowley would've domineered, and he couldn't be more content.  
"Be good to me.." Tremulous he implored, but she was going to be good anyway. His face received a delicate caress, and then a chaste kiss, angelic style, before that Crowley would have started to cherish him inside of herself. 

"Oh my God!" Aziraphale whined and he flinched at first, repeatedly as Crowley went down, down, down, until she owned him all.  
"Is- Is it good, love?" She proffered her question by taking his hand.  
"..It's amazing. Crowley, my love.. Am I good enough?"  
"You're perfect."

A fight of pure ecstasy burned them both during the cold night of November.  
Their bodies moved in a dance of vehemence, naturally as the animals that bite and scratch, and so Crowley nibbled on Aziraphale's chest and Aziraphale pulled Crowley's stockings, and it felt right, their voices bonding in the satisfaction of their appetite, calling and praying each other.  
Would it be holy, for an Angel, to pray a Demon?

"Aziraphale!"  
Crowley screamed and her back curved like a young branch, her hair cascaded behind her.  
At the same time her candid lover fluttered of pleasure.  
"I-I.. Crowley, I-"  
But her answer was only made of kisses.

Hate scared not the lovers who fell together.

"I love you, I love you, I'll love you forever..,"  
Luminous eyes were close, and the two bodies reconciled; "I'll love you eternally."

And they do so.


End file.
